Follow Focus
40
Escape
“Xian” by Tieu Bao Truong, ID2061092909 licensed from Shutterstock.com.
I WAS TOLD I’d have better luck writing a letter than trying to call Oman from the embassy. Phone lines were jammed with users and the top embassy and military officials had priority.
After creating a hundred passports and visas on Friday, I wasn’t sure I’d brought enough supplies with me to meet the demand. I had a gross of each color and design of passport, and a couple of gross of templates. I’d brought a dozen 160-packs of film. As consulate employees brought me applicants to get their visas, I managed to get them to spend a minute so I could get them ID badges. It was probably a waste of time, but the more employees who had badges, the more easily they would be recognized.
The common factor among everyone who came through to get a visa or passport was that they wanted to leave Vietnam, and passage out was at a premium. There were quite a few American businessmen and contractors who brought Vietnamese wives and children with them.
China and I went to dinner in the cantina and then sat out by the pool that evening while I wrote individual letters to each of my wives and my children. China said I shouldn’t seal them because they would be censored before they left. But I’d been a diplomatic courier for two years and had seals for the service. I used a seal to close each envelope and then used the embosser my boss had given me to crimp the letters. They were addressed to my individual family members at the American Embassy in Muscat, Oman. I might not be able to do this regularly, but I wanted to be sure that each member of my family knew exactly how much I loved her. Next, all I needed was a courier.
The next evening, China and I once again talked until late, just enjoying being in someone’s company as we told each other about our lives.
“My mother was employed by the embassy in 1953. There were not many Americans staffing the embassy at that time. My mother spoke and could read and write English, French, and Vietnamese, so she was hired as an interpreter.”
“How about your father?”
“He was an American on guard duty at the chancery. It was not uncommon for liaisons to form between national employees and Americans stationed here. It still isn’t. I don’t think he ever knew my mother was pregnant. He was moved to his next assignment and my mother lost track of him. He never wrote back.”
“So, you were born here in Saigon, but have an American father?”
“I was born in the chancery infirmary.”
“The embassy is considered US land. That means you were born in America with an American parent. You should be a natural citizen.”
“Perhaps, if my birth certificate had survived the bombing in ’66. I stayed with the embassy when the new chancery was built and was educated by volunteers. I’ve lived within the compound ever since.”
“We need to apply to the ambassador for a citizen passport.”
“The current ambassador is not fond of Vietnamese employees or even the Vietnamese spouses of Americans. I doubt he would approve such a thing. Now tell me about your family.” She seemed to dismiss the idea pretty quickly. I filed it away in the back of my mind.
“Well, my family is quite unusual. I have three wives and two children.”
“Is that legal?”
“No. We simply all live together. I don’t have a legal marriage with any of them. But I love them to the end of the world.”
We talked well into the night before stumbling to our rooms and sleeping until we had to get to work in the morning.
“Did you hear?” Ken asked at the door to my passport office.
“Hear what, Ken?” I asked. He was carrying his shoulder bag and looked like he was ready to leave.
“The plane we flew in on… Last night it was loaded with 300 babies and at least forty caretakers and medical personnel. It crashed shortly after takeoff.”
“Oh, my God! Was it shot down?”
“No word on why it crashed. They’re still rescuing people from the wreckage. At least there are survivors. I don’t know how many.”
“You look like you’re packed to leave.”
“The general and I are headed to the airport. We’ll probably be on the next baby flight to Manila.”
“Take care of them, Ken.”
“I’ll do my best. I just stopped by to see if you had any messages to send home.”
“Yes. In fact, I was hoping to find a courier. You know my family is in Muscat, Oman at the embassy.”
“Give me a phone number. We’ll have better luck making a call from Manila or if worse comes to worse, from Washington.”
I quickly scribbled our phone number at the embassy in Muscat. It was Saturday. There wasn’t much chance anyone would be there today, but he might be able to reach someone on Sunday.
“Good luck, Nate. The general just said to tell you to get as many people as possible out of the country. I’ll see you Stateside.”
Ken took my envelopes and headed for the parking lot where the green bus was loading up with people headed to the airport.
We didn’t have as many people in line on Saturday because the consulate was technically closed on the weekend. They were still letting people in who had appointments. With as many people as we were supposed to process, I was surprised they weren’t keeping the embassy open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, but I guess people get tired and need to rest. I was the only one who had only been here working for two days.
While we were working, during the day, news continued to filter in. They said 130 people had died in the crash, including ninety-five babies, but they’d saved 170. It really put a damper on people’s enthusiasm for getting the babies out of Vietnam. Flights were scheduled daily, and Sunday’s would include many of the survivors of the Friday flight.
No one came into the compound on Sunday except the people who lived there and provided essential services like food. There was still a crowd who gathered outside the gate waiting for it to open on Monday. It was quiet and we all gathered in the commons where Radio Saigon played through the speakers. The station mostly played popular music and broke each hour for news. The news was pretty bland. The crash of the Babylift plane was hardly mentioned. We found out UCLA won the NCAA basketball championship again and that Bobby Fischer refused to play Karpov in a chess tournament.
Then music played again.
I don’t know what possessed me, but I took China’s hand and started spinning her in dance moves I hadn’t used in way too long. Gloria Gaynor sang “Never Can Say Goodbye” and China picked up the dance moves pretty quickly. That was followed by Barry White singing a new one called “Just Another Way to Say I Love You.”
As we danced, others who were hanging out at the pool got up to dance as well. It was good to just unwind when we knew the war was closing in on Saigon.
Monday, one of the passport agents came in with a client and plopped in a chair beside us while she bemoaned the current situation.
“You might as well keep all the passports with their applications here until the ambassador gets back,” she said.
“Where’d he go?”
“He has a house about half a mile from here. Oh. He’s sick. The embassy doctor has gone to call on him. It’s bad enough trying to get the seal applied to passports and visas when he’s here because he is so busy and won’t give the seal to anyone else. He’ll never catch up on a backlog.”
“The deputy doesn’t have access?”
“In my opinion, the ambassador doesn’t trust anyone with anything.”
“Well, we’ll keep them all organized and ready to go,” I said. “I hate to have people waiting for them, but I suppose there’s nothing we can do.”
“You’ve already made it a lot better for people. None of these people would stand a chance of getting a passport within six weeks if we were sending them offshore to be manufactured.”
“I’ll do the best I can,” I said.
She left and I worked with China to set up a system for keeping the passports or visas with the applications. Usually, they would go to the ambassador or to a consul general to be sealed, then would be sent back to the passport agent, who would call the client and deliver the document.
That night, I looked at nearly a hundred passports and visas in our makeshift file box. I’d have to figure out what to do once I found out how seriously the ambassador was ailing.
We found out on Tuesday. The ambassador was down with pneumonia. The doctors reported that he would be bed-ridden for a few days, but he was strong and would be back to work the next week.
In a week, I could have nearly a thousand documents that needed his seal. I went to see David.
“Why don’t you have the seal, David? That’s usually the province of the consul general,” I said when we got together.
“Yup. That’s right. Only not in Vietnam. The ambassador has a list of people he wants to make sure have visas and he’s been checking every one of them. I’ve seen him toss perfectly good applications in the wastebasket.”
“If you contact Mr. Martin, I’m sure he’ll authorize another seal,” I said cautiously.
“I’ve put in a request. You see, once you are in an embassy, you are under the management of the ambassador or deputy chief of mission. Even the defense attaché is under the orders of the ambassador. We’re making a plan, though, to get more families out. Stand by for that.”
Tuesday evening, I looked at the box of completed visas and passports awaiting the seal and made my decision. I retired early that evening. China seemed tired, too, so didn’t complain about heading for her room. About midnight, I made my way back to the consulate and slipped into my production room.
I started with the passports. These were for American citizens. Many were either born in Vietnam, or had dual citizenship with one of the other nations represented here. The French embassy was right next door, and even had a gate between the consulate and their chancery. I separated the passports and applications out of the box, and started using my State Department seal to validate the last page of the booklet.
It took about an hour to work my way through the passports. Then I slipped up to the consulate passport office and dropped the batch of them in the lead passport agent’s inbox.
Then I went to bed.
I didn’t feel guilty about stamping the passports. Mr. Martin had specifically authorized me to do so. I was cautious about it because I didn’t want to draw the ire of the ambassador. If he gave me a specific order to not validate any more documents, or worse yet, confiscated my seal, I would have to stop. I wanted to get as many Americans as possible out of Vietnam—and that included their families, whether citizens or not.
Wednesday we were back at work and processing more applications than ever. We worked from eight in the morning until half past eight at night. China ran out early in the afternoon and got us sandwiches from the cantina. We got a hot dog after work and drank a beer, then headed to bed.
I was up at midnight again and went back to the office. I sorted through the applications for unwed parents of children. The agents who were in charge of interviewing and filling out the templates chatted quite a lot when they brought a customer to get the last phase completed.
“Marriage certificates are going for around $2,000 out there. Used to be $20,” one said. “Not everyone can afford it and we’re holding a lot of applications pending a certificate. Mr. Conklin said the ambassador isn’t sealing the visa of anyone claiming to be a common law wife. Certified with proof of spouse’s citizenship or no visa.”
“That’s insane,” I said. “A lot of those common law marriages have children.”
“He says we don’t yet have authorization to transport any Vietnamese refugees to the US, so no visas. I’ll just bet they’re sending many people on from the DAO to places like Guam, Manila, Hong Kong, or Taipei. It just depends on who is being paid for what.”
“Tell the other passport agents to clip a note to any application of a common law spouse and children that has a husband vouching for them. I’ll make sure I accompany them to the ambassador when he returns,” I said.
Like any war-torn country, I suppose, desperate people were willing to take desperate measures. That included sleeping with the soldiers, diplomats, or any other savior who could take them to safety. Americans were all too willing to fuck their way through Saigon’s women looking for the hope of salvation.
I know that’s bitter and I don’t want to sound like I believed all Americans in Vietnam would sleep with any native girl who spread her legs. The guys I’d met, workers in the consulate, the embassy, the CRA, or the Marines were all decent people. I don’t think they’d intentionally knock up a Vietnamese woman and then abandon her. I’d been away from Ronda for a week and the rest of my family for five weeks. It drove me half crazy at night thinking of them. I could only imagine what the guys who were gone for a year or two felt like. I wouldn’t blame any of them for seeking comfort when there were so many willing comforters available.
And I didn’t believe the war automatically made every Vietnamese woman available. I think desperation set in with poverty and displacement. There were over two million people in the greater Saigon area—a million more than ten years ago. And more people were flooding in each day. The PAVN was definitely moving southward and every mile they moved sent another wave of refugees toward Saigon.
“There’s good news in terms of stepping up the evacuations,” Bruce Lindstrom said. He was the principal senior agent who brought a line of people for visas.
Foreign nationals all had to be escorted when they were in the consulate, so the agents had set up a system of holding a dozen or so applicants at a time in the office and then just one agent leading a pack of them to my office. We could seat and shoot a dozen applicants in fifteen minutes or less. China took care of attaching the application form to the finished document and filing it to go to the ambassador.
“We always want good news,” I said.
“We’re stepping up the frequency of flights at Tan Son Nhut—that’s the airport you came into when you arrived. The Defense Attaché Office is located there, which is a pretty good-sized compound where our Marine Security Guard is bunked and there’s a theatre and gym. That sort of thing. Anyway, it’s being activated as an evacuee holding facility. They aren’t turning anyone back at the airport and telling them to come again tomorrow like we still are here at the embassy. They check in and are led to an area where they wait until the next available plane. Once they’re in, the only way out is by plane.”
“It will be good to step up the frequency of people getting out of here,” I said.
“Oh, you want to know the kicker, though? We’ve got around 2,000 American government workers in Vietnam. That doesn’t include contractors and businessmen. We’re trying to ship them out as quickly as we can, but almost the same number arrive each day as leave.”
“What? Why in God’s name is anyone coming here?”
“For the work you’re doing,” Bruce said. “They’re coming back to try to get their families out.”
“I hope we can help them.”
“Scuttlebutt has it that the CG has acquired the State seal to validate visas. Stacks of them are showing up each morning. Not at the rate you’re producing them, but it isn’t at a standstill.”
“I wouldn’t spread that around,” I said. “It seems that some things might be better left unknown, like how he got the seal.”
“Right you are. Okay, folks, we have your contact info and as soon as your papers are validated, we’ll call you. Let’s head back to the gate in an orderly fashion.” He led his charges away and another agent arrived with another dozen applicants.
I continued to go into the office around midnight each night and stamp fifty to a hundred passports and visas. I delivered these to the principal passport agent and then slipped back to my room and to bed. I kept the seal in my courier bag, along with various supplies that I always carried, including film for my Nikon and for the Polaroid unit.
At dinner time, I wandered around the compound taking pictures, including getting China to pose for me.
“Nate, I am not dressed nicely for a picture,” she complained.
“China, you are so beautiful, no one will notice how you are dressed,” I answered. They were more likely to notice that I was shooting 35mm transparencies and not my usual black and white. I had only one camera with me—the department’s Nikon. I had two lenses. But shooting candids wasn’t my specialty.
“Let me go change clothes so you can have a nice photo of me. Please?” she asked.
“Okay. I can see you have your heart set on something. Change clothes and we’ll find the perfect place to take your picture.”
I didn’t know where that would be. Natural light was a memory. Now the embassy compound was lit with a few pole lights that wouldn’t qualify for streetlamps in most places I’d visited.
When China returned, she was stunning. She’d freshened her makeup as well as putting on a lovely traditional Vietnamese dress. It was yellow with a floral design and she wore a strand of white beads with it.
“That’s beautiful, China. I haven’t seen you wear anything traditional since I got here.”
“I don’t usually wear traditional clothes because people… I like to be seen as a westerner. But I do have one or two pretty things.”
“Let’s find a place with enough light that I can get a good picture.”
We hunted around for several minutes and I took another picture with the banyan tree in the courtyard, but I wasn’t confident of any of them.
“I have better light in my room,” I said. Granted it was incandescent, but it was bright.
“Oh, so do I! Take my picture there!”
We headed back to our rooms and China opened her door. The room was pretty basic, but I zeroed in on the mirror right away.
“That’s a beautiful mirror.”
“It was my mother’s. It’s one of the few things I have of hers.”
I positioned her in front of the mirror and after a few tries and trying a couple of different filters, took the perfect picture.
I was falling further and further behind in terms of the number of passports and visas we were holding and the number sealed and sent to the agents. The ambassador was back at work and we started sending a hundred of the cleanest and least problematic visas to him in hopes that he would simply seal them and have done with it. Mostly, it worked pretty well, but by the end of the week, it was obvious that I was not leaving after two weeks of work.
That was confirmed on Friday when I received another shipment of templates, film, and covers. A note from Mr. Martin simply said, “Use as needed.”
The pace of processing applications and generating visas and passports picked up substantially that week. It was now clear that the area north of Saigon was being evacuated. Americans from Da Nang were arriving in Saigon or farther south.
The consulate and all American personnel had been evacuated from Nha Trang. The consulate had been forwarding applications and trying to round up all the Americans and their families who were located up there. All these place names meant nothing to me but China would point a direction and indicate how many miles that way the place was.
April seventeenth and eighteenth, the population of the embassy compound went down as several hundred people considered to be in sensitive occupations—both American and Vietnamese—were bused to the DAO and given priority flights out. They were flying some pretty big aircraft out at the time. I know a couple of 747s were still flying in and out. It didn’t take many planeloads to get those who worked in intelligence, the defense attaché’s office, and similar jobs out of Vietnam.
Air America planes were also being used to move people out of Vietnam and either to Thailand or Manila. They were mostly all smaller planes, similar to the one that had been retired and became transport for Ronda and me. I whispered a prayer for my family again that day.
Sunday night, I was in my office reviewing and stamping visas when my door opened and the ambassador’s secretary, Edna Lim, walked in.
Oops. I’d been caught.
“Thank God it’s true,” she said, closing the door behind her. She came straight to me and dumped a huge stack of papers on my table. They still smelled of mimeograph ink. “We can’t clear people quickly enough to review every visa application. We can’t even get people processed quickly enough for you to take their pictures. These are affidavits of support. They were drawn up by the defense attaché. They declare that a non-citizen dependent of an American is sponsored and will be cared for and supported by that American.”
“That’s great, Miss Lim. Will it get them on an airplane?”
“The DAO says they will honor them,” she said. “However, they would carry more weight—look more official—if they had a State Department seal on them. Mr. Hart, I’ve heard more passports and visas have shown up in the consulate than the ambassador could possibly have approved. Since I deliver the non-validated documents to him and he gives me the validated ones to deliver to the consulate, I know for a fact it is far more. You were sent here under the direct order of the Secretary of State, according to Deputy Assistant Secretary Martin in Passport Services. You don’t report directly to anyone here in the embassy or consulate. If you have the means to seal these documents, I can have another five hundred or a thousand to you each night.”
“That’s a lot of documents, Miss Lim. I’ll do my best.”
“Not to take away from any of the work you’ve facilitated in getting regular passports and visas issued, but this could be the reason you are here in Saigon right now. We can issue ten times the number of sworn affidavits that we can visas. Let customs in the US sort out the visa.”
“You have my word. I will get as many of these out as possible.”
“Before I go, fill one of these out for Miss Nguyen and sign it. I’ll witness it. I know she is almost invisible here in the compound, but she needs to leave when you do.”
I agreed. I filled out the paper and signed my name as her sponsor. Miss Lim signed it. I crimped the seal on it. It was only then I realized I had just gained a dependent and was responsible for my assistant getting out of Vietnam.
We decided where on all the documents the seal should go. Then I started sealing as many of these docs as I could. I could crimp the seal on as many as three or four pages at a time, which made the process go a little faster. I delivered the visas I’d finished to the Passport Office, and put the affidavits in my desk drawer until I knew what to do with them. At five o’clock in the morning, a Marine stood in my doorway.
“Sir, I understand you have documents that should be taken to DAO,” he said.
“Yes,” I said, much relieved. “This should be delivered directly to Major General Smith at DAO. You will note the packet is sealed as a diplomatic dispatch. Please make it a priority.”
“Yes, sir.”
He took the package and headed out. I stretched and went to get a bite of breakfast before starting the day again. I’d try to catch a nap later.
I was about whipped by two o’clock in the afternoon.
“China, I need to go for a little walk, get some lunch, and take a nap. I’m shot. Would you let the agents know that we’re closed for two hours?”
“Nate, you’ve been working too hard. You were out all night last night,” she said, holding my arm as I got up. “Of course, I will let them know.”
“How did you know that?”
“I’m a very light sleeper. I know you get up in the middle of the night and come back to work. I know there are always fewer visas in our outbox in the morning than there are when we leave in the evening.”
“Please don’t spread that word around. A mention to the ambassador or DCM could shut us down,” I said.
“You are safe with me, Nate. I will never let you down. I’ll run to the passport office and let them know we are taking a break. People are used to waiting.”
I went to get a sandwich at the cantina and then collapsed on my bed.
“Nate. Nate,” China said as she shook me awake. I opened my eyes and saw the lovely girl sitting on the edge of my bed. “We need to get back to work. We have a line waiting for visa photos.”
“Right,” I said, stretching and sitting up. Somehow it struck me as odd that China would be in my room. I must not have locked the door.
I splashed some water on my face in the restroom and then we headed back to the consulate. China went directly to the passport center and collected the next line of people to have their photos taken and documents generated.
We worked past eight o’clock again and I gave China money to get us dinner at the cantina and bring it back to the office. She’d no more than left than Miss Lim entered my office with a stack of over a thousand more affidavits.
“These are now your priority, Mr. Hart,” she said. “We’ve made a breakthrough, thanks to the efforts of the defense attaché and the deputy chief of mission. The ambassador has turned the embassy seal over to our consul general, where it should have been all along. I will take all your completed passports and visas to the consul now. Please expedite the sealing these affidavits as highest priority.”
“What changed, Miss Lim?”
“Early Sunday, we received a cable from the Immigration and Naturalization service that said, ‘To expedite the evacuation of U.S. citizens, any American could sponsor visas for their Vietnamese in-laws if they agreed to be responsible for the cost of their transportation, care and resettlement.’ The ambassador has given up the seal with instructions to the consul general that passports and visas are to be issued to those legally married to an American citizen and their immediate family. While in America, immediate family means parents and children, in Vietnam it extends to in-laws and often cousins. The directive on marriage comes from the White House. These affidavits, though, can be used for common law spouses and children. We are skating at the edges of the law by issuing these affidavits to anyone claimed as a dependent of an American citizen guaranteeing their support. Yesterday, 249 American citizens took 334 Vietnamese dependents with them out of the country. Today, so far 550 Americans have taken 2,800 Vietnamese dependents on planes out of the country. This is very important, Mr. Hart.”
“I will be here around the clock, if necessary, Miss Lim. When you get another batch mimeographed, please bring them immediately. I will be here,” I said.
“Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Hart.” There were tears in the secretary’s eyes.
All we usually heard were what the rules and regulations were. It was easy to focus on negative bits and pieces. Politicians were trying to work within the letter of the law and show congress they were only bringing out Americans and their families. The embassy seal could only be applied to those visas. My seal was a State Department seal and wouldn’t be traced to the ambassador.
The House was still debating a bill to allocate funds for the evacuation. The planes were flying and people were moving without having any concrete authorization. The ambassador was making a show of obeying just what the president allowed.
But the people here… all the passport and visa agents in the consulate, the Marines, the embassy employees… everyone wanted to save as many people as possible. We all knew South Vietnam would fall. South Vietnamese President Thieu had resigned today and rumor had it that he was being flown to Taipei. Everyone in the embassy was working extreme hours to try to save as many people upon whom retribution might be extracted when the PAVN entered Saigon.
I started stamping the affidavits and didn’t stop when China returned with dinner.
We worked in a production line for four more hours before we finished the stack of affidavits and headed for bed. I had to switch hands several times during the process. Crimping the documents with that seal was really hard on the wrist, hands, and forearms. I stopped at the infirmary and asked for some aspirin to ease the ache.
When Miss Lim brought me another batch of mimeographed documents on Thursday, she said over 5,500 Vietnamese dependents had been evacuated the previous day, the majority bearing affidavits we had validated. Of those, a nun who ran an orphanage had claimed parentage of over a thousand children.
That was pretty staggering. I wondered if we were doing the right thing, but I knew these people, people like China, would be imprisoned if they were lucky. If they were found to have worked for the US government or to have been in a relationship with an American, they were just as likely to be executed on the spot. I heard estimates indicating there were as many as half a million South Vietnamese, mixed race children, and foreign nationals who were at risk as the PAVN moved closer to Saigon.
Suddenly the 5,500 who escaped the day before seemed insignificant.
“Mr. Hart, a message has come in from the embassy in Muscat, Oman asking you to contact them as soon as possible,” a messenger said. “If you go to Miss Lim’s office, she will clear her phone. It’s a priority line.”
“Thank you.”
I rushed out of the office to head for the chancery, worrying non-stop about why I would receive an urgent message, but hopeful that I would find my family waiting for the call. It took fifteen minutes for the operator to make the connection. There were only a few lines and the call was relayed via several stations.
“Embassy of the United States in Oman,” the voice said. “May I help you?”
“This is Senior Foreign Service Specialist Nate Hart calling from the Saigon embassy. I have a note to return an urgent call. I have very little time allowed on this line.”
“One moment, Mr. Hart. Mr. Brice is here to speak to you.”
Brice? Why would he put in an urgent call to me?
“Nate! I’m glad you called. How soon will you be leaving Saigon?”
“Possibly this weekend. What’s up, Robert? Where’s my family?”
“That’s what I called to tell you. When Ronda arrived in Muscat on Saturday, she was extremely ill. We were having problems getting medical attention here and the nurse gave a tentative diagnosis of meningitis. She was given antibiotics and sent home. Patricia came into the office and made several phone calls on Sunday. She was not very coherent and said that Adrienne was coming to help her pack. Things were pretty confused, but I discovered that Anna had taken Ronda on your plane—destination unknown.”
“Shit! Where’d they go?”
“I still don’t know. By the time I got that word on Tuesday, I went to your house to see what we could do to help Patricia with the children. Your house was cleaned out. Parcels had been shipped to Canada. Patricia and the children were gone. Your housekeeper said the French woman, Adrienne, arrived and the next day took Patricia and the children to the airport.”
“And nobody knows where they went to?”
“That’s what I’ve gathered. What I’m suggesting is that you leave Vietnam as soon as possible and head home. As in home to the US, not here in Oman. No one is here.”
“Fuck! Thank you, Robert. I’ll get out of here as soon as possible. If you hear anything else, please send me a telex.”
“Will do, my friend. Good luck.”
“I need to get out of here and back to the US,” I said to Miss Lim. “It’s a family emergency. How do I go about evacuating?”
“Mr. Hart, everyone is in an emergency situation right now.”
“I was supposed to be here for two weeks to clear out the backlog. It’s been three already. I need to leave,” I demanded.
“Look out there! Everyone needs to leave. They are storming the walls of the compound. What are we supposed to do? Shoot the people we’re trying to save?” she yelled back at me.
My family…
It was a mess out there. The Marine Security Guard had locked the gates and no buses had arrived all afternoon. People didn’t seem to be panicking yet, but some had climbed over the walls into the compound.
I went back to the passport office with another load of affidavits pushed into my hands by Miss Lim. I wondered how she was going to get out.
I cried and complained to China as we went back to work on the affidavits.
“All I know is Ronda was sick. Meningitis is a serious disease. It could kill her. And where would Anna have taken her on our plane? It’s too small to get back to the US. I can only imagine that she jumped to a European airport where she could get a direct flight back to the US.”
“I pray she will be okay. And your children. You are saving so many children here. Someone needs to save your children,” China said while rubbing my shoulders and my forearm.
“Do you have any other relatives living in Saigon?” I asked.
“No. When my mother died, I was alone. They were going to send me to an orphanage, but a friend stepped in and kept me in the embassy. Two years later, she was transferred away.”
“I have an affidavit filled out so I can take you with me,” I said. “Do you want to go?”
“Yes, Nate. I will go anywhere with you.”
Early Monday morning and a few thousand affadavits later, the Marine guard who had been shuttling back and forth to the DAO showed up at my door like usual.
“We’ve got a bus coming in ten minutes,” he barked. “Pack your gear and get to the west gate. The rest of the consulate staff are being evacuated today.”
“I can’t leave this stuff,” I said. “They could make hundreds of false passports.”
“Bring it. Let’s move.”
I closed and locked the camera and bindery. We didn’t have a lot of supplies left. I tucked what film remained into my courier bag while China ran to my room to pick up my suitcase and the folding trolley. As soon as she was back, I strapped the equipment to the trolley. China carried my suitcase and camera bag.
“Where’s your suitcase?” I asked.
“I threw a few necessary things in your bag,” she said. “I may not have retrieved all your clothes.”
“I don’t think anything is irreplaceable,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We got to the parking lot as a bus came through the gate. Half a dozen Marines jumped out and headed into the chancery. I wondered if they were going to forcibly evacuate the ambassador. The bus was jammed with passport and visa agents and their families. We knew many of the people on the bus. I sat with the trolley on top of me. China, next to me, had our suitcase and camera bag in her lap. We rolled out of the embassy compound at nine o’clock Monday morning. Most of the time the bus was able to keep moving. Once a crowd attempted to breach it, but the door held. I was pretty sure someone had made it onto the roof. It was six miles out to the DAO and took us forty-five minutes.
“Are you Nate Hart?”
“Yes.”
“Come with me, please.”
I motioned China to join me and we followed the guy with our equipment, materials, and suitcase. As soon as we got off the bus, we’d been directed to a line into the gymnasium where people were being processed as fast as they could manage it. A few hundred people were in the room. A glance into the movie theater as we passed showed another room that was full.
We were led to an office in a different building and entered to meet the defense attaché.
“Hart?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“You have all your equipment with you? Good. Miss Lim just sent over another thousand affidavits which will about cover the people we have waiting inside at the moment. Can you work your magic on them?”
“Yes, sir. I have another few hundred already sealed with me.”
I reached in my courier bag and handed the stack to the general.
“And this is?”
“My assistant and dependent, Nguyen Armor Xian.”
“You have one of these for her?”
“Yes.”
“Welcome, Miss Nguyen. I have an office next door where you can work and bunk until your flight out. We’ll expedite your departure, but appreciate you helping us move a few thousand more people.”
“How many have we evacuated so far?” I asked.
“This month, since the beginning of Babylift, we’ve moved about 27,000 people out. We’re finally making a dent in the numbers waiting. There are thousands on the river, ‘finding’ any kind of boat or craft that will take them out to sea.”
“I’ll get these documents sealed right away, sir.”
“Just return them here. We’ll get them in the right hands.”
“Yes, sir.”
We went to the empty office next door and got our production line underway. About three in the afternoon, a couple of the passport agents from the consulate came in and started typing up templates for immigration visas. As soon as we’d finished the affidavits, we started photographing visa applicants and assembling the visas. I didn’t even make a pretense any longer. The documents were still warm from the bindery when I applied the Department of State seal.
Someone brought food in. I don’t remember what. Rice, I guess. And something. Another batch of affidavits came in and it was nearly midnight when the general stopped with one of his aides.
“Pack it up, Mr. Hart. You’re out of here in four hours. Johnson will show you where your group is assembling.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Thank you for your service. God be with you.”
The aide, named Johnson, showed us to an assembly point in the gym. We sat with the others scheduled for our flight and dozed, leaning against each other. Occasionally, I became aware of China holding on to me.
“I would never have been able to do what we did without you China,” I said. “When we get to the US, I’ll make sure you are set up any way you want. You’ll love my wives. I wish I knew where they were now and that they were all healthy. I miss them like you wouldn’t believe.”
“I’m so thankful that you are taking me with you, Nate. I would be facing death without you. I love you and I will love your family.”
“There are all kinds of love, China. Mom preaches about them. Did I tell you she’s a preacher? She’ll treat you like her own daughters… like my wives.”
I nodded for only a minute, thinking of home when the gymnasium was shaken by an explosion outside.
“What the hell?” I said, starting awake. Others around me had the same response.
From the sound of it, the Viet Cong had decided we’d evacuated enough people and were bombing the airport.
That was just the first. Explosions rocked us every minute or two. Some were near and some were farther away. It was soon clear that they weren’t targeting the DAO directly.
“Bad luck,” one of the guys processing people announced. “There are no more flights. A rocket hit your plane on the runway. The pilots escaped, but the runways are all too damaged to bring fixed wing planes in or fly them out.”
“What are we going to do?” a man shouted from the group.
“We’re going to get you out. We have an emergency and evacuation plan that takes this into consideration. It will take us a couple of hours to get everything set, but you’ll be leaving soon. Just hang tight and have faith. We aren’t going to leave you.”
There was some grumbling and not a few tears. People were scared. I was scared. Active shelling and gunfire had been miles away while I’d been in Saigon. China huddled under my arm and I could feel her shaking with sobs. All I could do was shield her and comfort her.
Of course, a couple of hours stretched on and on. I saw the ambassador arrive to personally inspect the airfield before ordering a helicopter evacuation. The radio station, which had been playing in the background ever since we got here started playing “White Christmas.” I thought that was a bizarre choice for April in Saigon. But the song just kept playing, over and over.
“In case you’re wondering, that music is the signal for the beginning of helicopter evacuation,” the guy managing the room said. “We’ll need you to divide up into groups of fifty instead of two-fifty and as soon as the choppers arrive, we’ll get you aboard.”
The DAO had been fairly well emptied except for the last plane or two of people waiting to get out, but soon after noon, the buses started arriving with more people to be flown out. We were led out to the DAO courtyard. Half a dozen helicopters arrived a little after noon. They were loaded and flew out. We didn’t make the first flight. Twelve more big choppers landed about three o’clock, and at last it was our turn to get aboard. We ran across the open quad to the helicopter we’d been assigned, dragging the trolley and carrying the suitcase. We were nearly to our helicopter when another explosion collapsed a building just off the green. The rotors never stopped turning as the ramp up the back of the helicopter was lowered.
A woman fell just beside me.
“China! Help me. Take the trolley and roll it aboard.”
It was too much for her to handle and she made the instant decision to toss our suitcase aside so she could use both hands to pull the much heavier trolley up the ramp. I scooped the woman who had fallen up in my arms and carried her up the ramp, depositing her amidst the others cramming into the helicopter. We’d been told the helicopter would carry fifty, but there were closer to sixty-five or maybe seventy in the little compartment.
The chopper was in the air before the ramp was closed and a guy I recognized from the consulate jumped to the ramp. I edged out far enough to grab a hand and pull him in as the ramp closed and the helicopter headed out to sea.
Even in the air, we could feel the explosions continuing for several minutes.
We couldn’t see anything. It wasn’t like this was a tourist helicopter over the Grand Canyon or something. But we knew we were flying away from the DAO.
Away from Saigon.
Away from Vietnam.
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
